


If There is a Cure

by mongoose_bite



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Angst, F/M, Older Woman/Younger Man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 08:07:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21012509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mongoose_bite/pseuds/mongoose_bite
Summary: Something must be done about the Dovahkiin.





	If There is a Cure

**Author's Note:**

> So my internet went out and I was browsing through my fic folders and I found this. I kind of vaguely remember writing it; it had to be for the kink meme but I honestly don't remember the prompt or even if I posted it in the end. Anyway, enjoy. Delphine was one of those NPCs I felt was a bit under-utilised.

She pushed open the heavy iron doors and stepped inside. It was cold here, but not quiet; she could hear conversations and shuffling and the odd mindless groaning. She tucked a lock of greying blonde hair behind her ear and ventured further underground, her ancient armour making her footsteps solid and heavy.

When they heard her, they flung their minions and their magic at her. She parried, twisted, the years hadn't slowed her that much, for she'd never stopped fighting. She took a shambling Breton's head off and he turned to ash.

Pointed teeth met remorseless Akaviri steel armour, and stolen blood flowed as she drew her blade across a screaming vampire's throat. The hive was alive to the intruder now, shouted orders and running feet but still she pressed on, remorseless.

She battled her way into a large chamber, stairways leading back up to a raised dais and disappearing off into further chambers. She looked up, light filtering diffusely from hidden magical sources or crystals – sunlight would not be welcome here.

An Orc armoured in ebony and a head taller than her snarled around elongated tusks, and she raised her sword.

“Stop!” The voice echoed down the chamber. “Let her through!”

She looked up at the man standing on the dais, and her breath caught. He hadn't aged a _day_.

He was their golden boy. Their hero. Soreld.

Sometimes she wondered how she'd managed to keep hope alive all those years in hiding, in exile. And then he'd arrived, hair like spun gold and eyes like diamonds; strangely clear and bright. He'd accepted, without hesitation, the burdens fate had placed upon him, and he had inspired them.

He fought with boundless courage and conviction, he'd brought recruits, he'd brought honour. He'd brought the Blades back from the brink of death.

He'd been fun, too. All sly jokes and laughter as explosive as the dragonspeech he Shouted. He'd made even old Esbern feel young. He made her feel like she was on fire.

She climbed the endless stairs up to him, watched by dozens of unblinking, luminous eyes. She reflected then, how wise he'd been on that night to turn back. And she wondered why he had, wondered what he'd seen of himself.

That night he'd returned from the dead, from Sovengarde, the Blades had held a feast so loud and joyous the Forsworn in the hills had joined in, and the entire reach was alive with song and drumming. He'd told the story of his victory, and they'd toasted him and the ancient heroes who fought beside him. He summoned them with a Shout, and they toasted them again.

Later he'd strolled out for air and she'd followed.

“I'm sorry we weren't there with you,” she said.

He shrugged and leaned against the wall, out of the wind. “Want some of the glory?” he grinned.

“No, I'm too old for glory. I'm glad you didn't have to fight alone.” She stood beside him, cold stone at her back as they gazed out over the mist-shrouded valley below.

“I saw Ulfric. I know you don't care about Skyrim's politics, but I thought it was interesting.”

He'd hated the war. He'd ended it practically single-handedly.

“You could lead us now,” she said. “You're the most qualified Blade we have, after all.”

He laughed. “I could! Go on dragon patrol. But, you know,” he looked at her from under his hair. “That would make you no longer my superior, Ma'am. Maybe that's why you suggested it?”

She protested, turning towards him, “It's a serious-”

He placed a finger under her chin and tilted her head up. “Is it?”

She remembered those first few heady days when they were each working out who the other was and how far they could be trusted. How he'd stared at her leather armour. How hard it had been to look the other way while he changed for the embassy party - but they had things to do. She'd always answered his unspoken questions with a regretful shake of her head. Not now.

Why not now?

“Soreld.”

She'd seen nothing of it, nothing in the way he kissed, nothing in the way he tried and failed to pick her up, nothing in the way he'd hustled her to a storeroom only to find it already occupied. It had been ridiculous and wonderful. He'd argued for the need for some non-communal sleeping places and she'd simply locked the door and told him the others would manage for one night.

It didn't sound like they'd be getting any sleep anyway.

There was nothing in the way he held her, nothing in the earnest and determined way he'd fucked, nothing in his eyes to suggest it would lead to this.

She hadn't seen any imperfections at all.

If she had, she wouldn't have suggested it, when they were sated and warm and discussing whether or not to get up and unlock the door.

“You could be Emperor,” she'd said. She was looking at the fire, but she felt him sit up and look at her. “Why not? You are dragonborn. A hero. A world-saver. We could have something to protect again; a purpose beyond Alduin.”

He'd frowned. “I don't think that would be a good idea.”

He'd sounded so serious. “I was only a suggestion.” But if he'd wanted it, she would have followed. But he hadn't, and now she was glad.

She was breathing heavily by the time she crested the staircase. He was sitting on a carved stone throne, his hands resting on the hilt of his greatsword, as still and cold as a statue. Only his eyes burned, like twin candles in the gloom.

“Hello, Delphine,” he said.

“Soreld,” she said.

“What brings you here?”

“You, what else? Soreld, why did you do this to yourself?”

“Skyrim needed me, and will again. How else can I remain to answer those summons?” He spoke flatly, without inflection or passion, or anything she remembered of the hero he had been. His long teeth glinted between lips that had once been warm.

“No one wanted you to do this. No one expected it of you, this is wrong. You deserve better. You deserve a warm fine and toasts raised in your honour and friends, not,” She refused to look over her shoulder. “Thralls.”

He just watched her, like she was a complete stranger.

“I didn't come here with mere words, Soreld. I came with hope.” She stepped forward, staring into his burning eyes, trying to see the man behind them. “We have been searching, and we believe we've found someone who can cure you.”

“Really.”

“You can be a man again. You can live again. If there is a cure-”

“I don't want it.”

“But why?”

“It's not just a disease, Delphine. It's not just an unfortunate dietary restriction. It's a way of looking at things. At life; it's endless. You seethe with it. I can smell it. And without it, one attains a certain clarity. A purity. Don't get me wrong, I understand what you see. But you don't understand what I do.”

“You've forgotten what life's like. You were bursting with it. This, this is a shell, a mockery. We want you back. We miss you. We don't need you to fight for us any more, we just want our friend, our comrade.”

“Your lover?”

She refused to let him sink in the blade. “The years have not been as kind to me as they have to you, Soreld. I have no illusions.”

“Yes you do. You're here, aren't you? Go away, Delphine. There's nothing for you here. You will not be harmed on your way back to the sunlight.”

Delphine bowed her head for a moment. “I'm sorry, Soreld, that we didn't see this coming. That you won't let me do more than this to help you.”

She raised her head, and drew her sword. She hadn't brought her Akaviri blade; she'd brought silver.

Soreld got to his feet.


End file.
